A Day in November
by AstraPerAspera
Summary: Well...it's six months after A Day in May, and Sam and Jack just might have something to be thankful for. Written for the SJ Ship Family Shipsgiving celebration.


**A Day in November**

It was the third crash to come from the other room in the past half hour…and the third expletive to accompany it. Jack had rushed in the previous two times, but this time he knew better. He hunkered down even lower on the sofa and tried to direct his attention toward the football game. The Lions and the Packers. Not much of a game. Not that he'd especially been paying attention. His concentration had been mostly focused on the noises coming from the other room…and trying to decide whether letting Sam cook Thanksgiving Dinner was a good thing or not. At the moment he was leaning toward the "not".

This hadn't been his idea in the first place. He'd spent many a Thanksgiving eating in an on-base mess…even more in places where giving thanks for something was hard to come by, let alone worthy of a feast to honor it. Memories of Thanksgiving dinners with his mother and grandparents in Minnesota were too distant to hold much substance, so he had no particular cause to feel nostalgic about something he'd never had nor barely remembered. He'd have been happy with a steak off the grill, or maybe even a dinner out. But Sam had had other plans.

"I can do this," she'd insisted when they both realized the day was nearly upon them. "How hard can it be?"

Jack had risked a glance at her out-of-proportion body and wisely said nothing. Holding his tongue had been a new skill he'd developed since Sam had gone on medical leave. His propensity for making the occasional side-bar comment or pointed remark, once something that would have earned him one of her famous smiles, or at least a stifled grin, now seemed only to irritate; so he figured while he still had his head attached to his body, it was better if he just kept his little running commentary to himself and shut up.

Which was why, when she'd set her mind to fixing Thanksgiving dinner…with all the trimmings, no less…he'd bit his tongue and kept silent. A determined Sam on a mission was a force to reckon with. A hormonally over-charged Sam, two weeks past her due date, was a force to be avoided. He'd taken her carefully prepared shopping list and dutifully headed out to the grocery, hoping she'd missed his under-the-breath comment about this being a "colossally bad idea". Two hours and fifteen little brown plastic bags later, he had returned with all the basic elements for a traditional meal, including, at Sam's insistence, something called a "free range turkey", which he found perplexing, as not only was the anemic thing not free, but in fact had cost more than any other damn bird in the whole poultry case.

She'd approached the meal preparation with all the intensity of an off-world mission, pouring over recipe books like they were tech manuals. Jack had heard of the nesting instinct, but to witness it first-hand was an awesome thing, especially in Sam. Every room in the house had been cleaned…twice. The nursery had been re-arranged at least a half dozen times, and with nothing else to occupy her, she'd turned her attention to cooking, with a vengeance.

If the baby didn't come soon, Jack wasn't sure who was going to lose it first…him or Sam.

A burst of crowd noise from the TV brought Jack's attention momentarily to the game. Someone had scored. Football wasn't normally his thing, but Sam's last glare when he'd hurried to her aid in the kitchen had made him decide that he'd better find something to focus on besides her, or the day was going to end badly, all the way around. She'd growled something about "over protective", and despite the fact that she was standing there, completely unable to bend over to reach the pan she'd dropped, he'd decided it was the better course of action just to beat a hasty retreat.

Hence the football game—but with one ear still half-tuned to the sounds emanating from….

"_JACK!_"

Even with his bum knee, three heartbeats later, he was there. Sam was standing in the middle of the kitchen, an odd look of dismay on her face. Jack's first thought was that she had dropped a pitcher of water. A puddle was spreading across the floor and a dark spot showed where her jeans were soaked.

Then it occurred to him: there wasn't a pitcher in sight.

"I think…my water broke…" she said, hesitantly, half-embarrassed, if the color on her cheeks was any indication.

Jack suppressed the flash of panic that wanted to turn his knees to liquid and his brain to mush and dug deeper for those innate instincts that years of training had made second nature.

"You okay?" he asked, simply…calmly…at least he hoped it came out calmly. He looked into Sam's face…that beautiful face that he had loved for more years than he had ever been able to admit. As ever, her eyes told him more than her words ever could. She was fine. She was more than fine. A faint look of amazement crossed her face.

"Wow…this is it!"

Jack smiled. Trust Sam to maintain her equilibrium even at a time like this. And as steady as she seemed…he knew he would have to be even steadier.

"I know," he answered, trying to keep any anxiety out of his voice. "You ready?"

Sam gave a slight twist of her head and raised an eyebrow; taking deep breath, she let it out slowly.

"As I'll ever be."

Jack held out his hand and only when she slipped her own into it did he feel her fear in its damp palm. He squeezed it, and she squeezed back.

God, he loved her.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Time to go."

o-o-o-o

"Sam…you know…if there was any way I could…."

"Jack…I love you…but please…shut…up…."

Jack obliged and tried not to cringe. Not at Sam's words, but at the force with which her hand was crushing his. At least he could take satisfaction that she'd gotten something out of all those years of hand-to-hand combat training. He just wished it wasn't his hand that was bearing the brunt of it. He'd lost feeling in three fingers already. Still, by the look on Sam's face…and the way the monitor by the side of the bed was spiking at the moment, he figured he still had the best of it. Beads of sweat appeared around her already damp hair as the contraction reached it's peak and then ebbed. Her grip on his hand relaxed, but did not let go. He would have liked to have given his hand a good shake…try to return some blood flow to the fingertips, but if Sam wasn't letting go, then neither would he.

With a deep, exhausted sigh she sank back against the pillow and closed her eyes, trying to grab a few seconds rest before the next one struck. Jack could pretty much time it now. The long roll of paper from the monitor showed the regular rise and fall of the contractions, with ever-increasing frequency. If he was right, she had about 30 seconds before the it all started again.

Studying her face, Jack had to keep reminding himself that this wasn't like all those other times he'd stood by and watched her suffer, or waited at her bedside, hoping that this wasn't the time where her luck…and his…ran out. For all the pain and misery of the moment, something good would be waiting at the end of this. Not just good—wonderful—amazing—miraculous. A child. Their child. Their daughter.

Every time he thought about it, he was awestruck. And, if he was being honest with himself—afraid. Ever since that day in May when she had told him, he'd harbored a horrible, silent fear in his heart that perhaps, this too would be taken from him. But not just from him, this time, but from Sam too. It was his constant fear…that with her having thrown her lot in with his, she would somehow now be subjected to the same misfortunes that had shadowed him much of his life. That by loving him…by marrying him…he would bring her the same grief he had brought to anyone who had dared to make Jack O'Neill part of their life.

And it wasn't that this child had not come without risks; they weren't exactly teenagers, after all. The doctor's litany of potential problems had left him mute with terror, and Sam's ashen face when they'd left the genetic counselor's office had only reinforced his fear. But the weeks had turned to months, and the months to trimesters, and each visit to the doctor, each prenatal test, each listen of the steady and strong heartbeat of their unborn child, had given him hope. The shadows in his periphery had faded to near nothing.

And now here they were.

The monitor began beeping…Jack felt Sam tense. Rest period was over. Time to get to work.

"Come on, Carter…" he murmured pointedly, bracing himself for the bone crushing grip. "You can do this."

"Jack…I swear…." Whatever she was going to say was overridden by a gut-wrenching moan. Jack winced, one eye on the monitor. This one was going to max out all the others. He glanced at the doctor who nodded and moved into position. A huge lump formed in the back of Jack's throat and…were his eyes stinging? Yeah…so he'd never actually made it to this part before…damn black-ops…. Strange, at his age, to be having a first-time at anything. It scared the hell out of him…and humbled him beyond anything he'd ever thought possible, especially as he watched Sam go deep within to find whatever it was she needed for this final onslaught.

Battling back the unexpected emotions, Jack slid his free arm around Sam's shoulder and willed her all his strength.

"I've got your six, Carter," he promised. "Time to push."

o-o-o-o

Jack O'Neill was in love.

Sure…her eyes were a little puffy at the moment…but as blue as a Minnesota lake. And her face was a bit on the splotchy side, which, as he understood, was to be expected. And maybe she was as bald as the proverbial cue ball. But her mouth was her mother's and thank God her ears weren't his, and no one could ask for a cuter nose. Or at least it would be, when it stopped being quite so flat and squished.

"You'll stare a hole right through her, you know."

Sam's voice from the bed made Jack look up. The bundle in his arms squirmed slightly at the sound of her mother's voice. He hated to give her up, but she had a decidedly hungry look on her face and there were some things he just wasn't equipped to do. Reluctantly he carried her over and handed her off, dropping a kiss on her down-fuzzy head before lingering over a singularly less paternal one with Sam.

"Hey," she said, not letting her eyes leave his as their lips parted. Jack grinned.

"Hey," he answered back. Had he mentioned that he loved that smile? It wavered, just a bit.

"Sorry about dinner…"

Jack was perplexed.

"Dinner?"

Sam looked sheepish.

"Yeah…you know…Thanksgiving…guess I kind of ruined it."

Jack glanced down at their daughter who, in her mother's arms, had gone blissfully back to sleep. He wondered vaguely if it was possible for a heart to burst from sheer joy, because his was feeling oddly tight within his chest at the moment.

"Oh…I wouldn't exactly say that…." He had to clear his throat. And damn if there wasn't something in his eye. Both eyes, in fact. Jack looked away…but too late. Sam had seen. He could tell by the way her own blue eyes were suddenly glistening and how she grasped his hand and held it.

"Anyway…." He had to salvage this somehow. "As far as I'm concerned…turkey is vastly over-rated."

Sam couldn't help herself. A grin played up one side of her mouth, even if her nose was already decidedly pink. It was working.

"Really?" she asked, her voice challenging.

"Oh yeah," Jack pushed on. "All that tip-toe-bland stuff…makes you go right to sleep. Like that." He snapped his fingers for emphasis. Sam's grin broadened.

"I had no idea…" she replied, her tone indulgently playful. Jack sighed inwardly. She was going along with him now. Playing the game where she pretended she didn't see how very much he cared, allowing him to distract her with his nonsense.

"Mmm. Now, if we're talking a real meal here, I've just gotta say that next year…a big, juicy steak…"

"Jack…."

The unexpectedly quiet tone of her voice stopped him in his vocal tracks. He had no choice. He had to look at her.

That was all it took. Good thing he was already sitting on the bed. When she looked like that he nearly went weak in the knees.

Sam leaned forward and pulled him into another lingering, tender kiss.

"I'll make you a deal…." she half-whispered, what seemed like years later, her lips only millimeters apart from his. He'd have bought time-shares in Netu from her if she had asked. "Next Thanksgiving…I'll take care of dinner…and _you_ can have the baby."

Jack heard himself chuckle. He never ceased to be amazed at how well she understood him. The band around his heart loosened a bit and he took a deep, cleansing breath. Quite possibly the first completely restful breath he'd taken in twenty-eight hours…or maybe it was twenty-eight weeks.

Returning the kiss she had given him, he leaned in close enough that his cheek brushed against her hair. Even after everything she still smelled wonderful…a faint mingling of shampoo, antiseptic and baby powder. For this moment, at least, the stars had aligned themselves in his favor and Jack felt gratitude beyond words.

"You know, Carter," he whispered ever so softly into her ear. "I think you've got yourself a deal."


End file.
